


The Battle of Evermore

by Monoi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Faceless Arya, Incest, Jon Snow knows nothing literally, Non-Graphic Smut, Porn With Plot, Starkcest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monoi/pseuds/Monoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They had to reach as soon as possible Moat Cailinn and from there get in touch with the men of the swamp.<br/>[...] Yet the image of the King of the North who covered the shoulders of the woman kneeling in front of him had seemed an ominous sign that does not promise well."</p><p>What would have happened if Jon had meet Arya as an adult without knowing that she is his sister?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The group of men on horseback proceeded through the land covered with snow, nearby a remote village between the frozen fields on the left bank of White Knife. The gaze  could sweep through the hills, and the ground was bare and white. From the small group of huts rose several columns of black smoke, and the pungent smell quickly rose to their nostrils, faster than the desperate cries that the men perceived only a few minutes later.

None of the dozen men spoke a word, their mute and impassive faces showed no emotion. They walked in serried ranks, locked in silence, waiting for the boss to say if they had to continue their run or stop at the village to control the situation. They had to reach as soon as possible Moat Cailinn and from there get in touch with the men of the swamp. 

It wasn’t an easy task. Since the Starks were no longer in Winterfell, no one had ever been able to see those mysterious men, able to hide at the sight of all those who had tried to talk to them. Nor the men of iron, nor Bolton, even the Frey or Riverrun men had never succeeded in coming to terms with unreliable crannogmen. But now, the Starks were back in Winterfell, or at least someone had returned. A bastard and a woman. Better than nothing. 

Suddenly, the leader of the expedition halted the group, his eyes trying to peer at the cluster of huts. Cries of women and children crying. The boss’ face frowned, and his piercing gaze fell on the man who they were escorting, well protected at the center of the group. He received a nod, a silent signal under the dark hood of the cloak that hid his face and identity.

The right corner of his lips rose imperceptibly, and an indefinable glow passed through his eyes while riding towards the small group of huts. The bearded man who rode alongside the man with the hood frowned, staring sullenly, and muttered some strange way to express his concerns about the operation.

Approaching the village, between the desperate cries of women they started to hear grunts, guffaws and screams of men. Men of their own army. The group went on slowly between the houses, and they began to see barns burned, bloody corpses and groups of soldiers pounced on poor defenseless women, while dirty and desperate brats looked with wide eyes their mothers and older sisters who were raped.

Nothing new, the men in the horses thought. It was no longer possible to do anything for them, much better go on and complete their mission. The man in the hood let out an irritated motion as he watched the devastation of the small village that was explained around the group. The boss turned to watch him, worried. If the hooded man decided to stop the group, the boss would have no choice but to obey. If the hooded man decided to punish those soldiers, the boss could not resist. But it was not a good idea, to go against the soldiers and the prey that they were convinced they had won in battle. It was not a good idea, whereas among men who accompanied them yet many were not quite convinced to follow him.

All of a sudden, angry screams came to their ears and they quickened their pace, heading for a small house that had been miraculously standing. A soldier bent over, kneeling in the mud, moaning incessantly, while a couple of companions shouted around him, some helping him, others railing against a dirty figure that was rolling through the snow in a whirl of legs and skirts, attacked by others soldiers.

"This bitch has cut his balls!" shouted one of the men, running to the riding group who had stopped a few steps from the house. 

The bearded man who sat next to the hooded man grinned as he watched the woman with torn clothes that did not yield to the punches, fighting with nails and teeth to defend herself. Soon, however, the fun left his eyes, which became serious at first, to see the soldiers fall lifeless in the snow under the woman's blows, and finally full of wonder, when two daggers appeared in the bloody hands of the beast. Now she was grinning, as he turned around into a defensive position, while controlling the group of soldiers who were around her. They could attack all at once, but she was so clever as to be able to land a good half of them before they fall in turn. It wasn’t a smart move.

The boss of the horsemen looked alarmed the man in the hood "Your Grace, we must stop it. If it goes on like this she will kill them all.”

"Hell, yes, " The bearded man exclaimed with admiration " that woman has more balls than all of them put together!”

The leader glared at him for his unfortunate joke and then turned back to the hooded man: "Seriously, that woman must be stopped."

"You are right, but who can we send to stop that fury?" was the answer. 

"I volunteer," said the brute at his side, with a mocking smile "but you must promise me that then I can keep her. I'm already in love.”

The hooded sighed.

"It is not for me to decide." He said, dismounting.

"Your Grace, I do not think it's safe ..." the boss, who already had guessed his intentions, tried to stop him, but he ignored the leader, advancing with long strides towards the group of soldiers huddled around the woman, lowering his hood. The first to see the features of his face was speechless at first, and then gave way, pulling the shoulder of two other comrades. Before long, the silence spread among the group of angry men, which made him space to make it closer to the woman. She remained with the two daggers tight in her hands, facing the men surrounding her.

He looked at her. Mud in his hair, on his face, her bare legs sticking out from a skirt now reduced to shreds. Blood on the arms, hands, on her left breast that rose and fell frantically, laid bare by a break through the fabric of the dress, ripped by the violence of the soldiers. Blood and mud on her face, contorted in a grimace of anger and pain.

Their eyes met and in the eerie silence of that moment his voice raised, directed at her, but also to those around them.

"I'm Jon Snow, the King of the North."

The woman began to tremble, lowering her arms, still clutching the daggers.

"I ask your forgiveness for the way my soldiers behaved with you."

Incredulous, she fell to her knees, oblivious to the snow and mud.

"If you will give your daggers to us I promise you that no one will touch you. You will be under my protection."

Tears began to fall on the blood that dirtied her cheeks. Trembling like a child, the woman threw the two daggers away from her. 

"What is your name?" He asked with a grimace that could almost be called a smile.

She sobbed, covering her face with her hands, without answering.

With a few last steps, he caught up. "What is your name?" He repeated.

"Ygraine" she said between gasps and tears.

For a moment, the face of the King of the North darkened, while a shadow made a quick pass on his eye. He unfastened his cloak and laid it on her dirty shoulders, covering her nakedness from the cold and the looks of the men. Now she was under his protection, and no one would dare touch her.

The King offered his hand, and lifted her up. Together they advanced towards his escort. He made her get on his horse and then set off towards Moat Cailinn, followed by the rest of his men, without saying a word. Only the head of the escort had remained behind, and with a few sharp orders commanded the soldiers to disappear from the village as soon as possible.

Davos Seaworth spurred his horse toward the rest of the group, at the head of the escort and calculated the daylight hours before the sunset stop their advance. He managed to get close to the King of the North to exchange some thoughts on where to camp for the night, and then nodded to Tormund, who joined him at the head of the small group.

"What do you think?"

The answer was a mischievous laugh. Davos raised an eyebrow and looked at him severely. Tormund patted him on the shoulder, the grin more suggestive than before.

"It's about time that our Jon start enjoying a woman!"

"That one? She’s going to kill him!”

"Exactly. He likes that kind of girl " The wildling finished giving big slaps on his thighs as he laughed uproariously, riding toward its place alongside the King of the North.

Davos continued to ride, puzzled and not convinced. Jon Snow and the women were not a subject on which he had been able to get an idea. But after all, to think of it, it was not so strange, given the generosity and selflessness with which he was shown capable.

Maybe I'm worrying about nothing, he told himself. Probably we will leave the woman to Moat Cailinn and it will end here. Maybe he will enjoy her few night and nothing more, or maybe not at all. After all, even the Red Woman wasn’t able to take him to her bed. Jon Snow had proven to be  better than Stannis even in this aspect.

Yet the image of the King of the North who covered the shoulders of the woman kneeling in front of him had seemed an ominous sign that does not promise well.


	2. Tired eyes on the sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos I received!   
> Please continue to give me your feedback, they are important to me!

The woman, close up view, was much younger and thinner than she looked. The feeling that gave, in that situation of enforced promiscuity, was a small bunch of defenseless bones. Yet, that mass of bones had been able to kill a couple of their men under his eyes. Jon Snow could not deny a certain curiosity about her. Where she had learned, the Northern peasant, to take out the men that way?

If she had been a wildling it would not be so strange. He could understand the admiration that leaked from the look of Tormund, accustomed to female warriors; Jon could not help but recognize that the woman knew her business. His instinct make him get her out of that attack, but now Jon Snow asked himself the reason for that sudden motion that he had. Taking a woman under his wing, and a dangerous one, it was not from him. Maybe it was a way to make amends to all the women who suffered the same treatment, and that he had failed to defend. Unfortunately, the war was the war, and to prevent his soldiers to plunder and rape the women was decidedly counterproductive, he knew, but that did not make him feel any better.

Although she was wrapped by his heavy cloak, Jon Snow could feel the skinny arms that pressed against his chest. The nervousness of the woman was more than understandable. Who knows now what she thought of him, what fate she believed she expected. In fact, even Jon Snow didn’t know what to do with that woman. Meanwhile they would reach Moat Cailinn, and then maybe he would leave her there, safe somewhere.

Suddenly, the woman turned her head toward him, her dark eyes looking at him with an unreadable expression. He lowered his head, handing his ear.

"It's cold, my lord," said a strange voice, neither old nor young, "it is better if you take back your cloak."

"Don’t worry" he said.

"I insist, my lord. I can’t stay quiet knowing that ye were freezing despite all the kindness you have for me." Her look and her tone brooked no replies. A true Northern woman.

Jon Snow sighed. Even now that he was the King he was not able to impose his will on the stubborn women. With Ygritte, when he was nothing more than a traitor crow among the brutes, and with Sansa who looked at him with the same look of Lady Catelyn. And the same thing was also with a peasant, his underling!

Taking advantage of a pause to water the horses near a small stream amazingly not frozen, the woman took off the cloak, handing it to him by the collar. Jon Snow peered back, a pile of skin and bones coming out from the rips of her dress. She was already shivering, and soon the darkness would come down.

"I can not make you die of cold," he told her, and with his right arm he wrapped both under the mantle.

"You hold it tight, I hold the reins," he concluded, joining the chest to the woman's back, with his arms around her thin waist. She did not say a word and let him, managing to close the cape in front of them. The solution had proved even more advantageous, because Jon was enveloped by the heat produced by the woman up to that point, and the smell of blood, mud, sweat and snow, which she wore. The feeling was not unpleasant. She reminded him of the smell that he had on him after a battle, but also the smell of Ygritte.

Jon Snow took the puzzled look of Davos and the smug one of Tormund, as they resumed riding. He pretended nothing, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He knew perfectly well what was going through the head of his men, especially Tormund.

But he did not care that much. He had rescued a woman, he was not in love. They could think what they wanted, he was not to convince them otherwise. It did not matter what they thought, or what he would do with that woman. The important thing was to focus on the next step to take.

Finding crannogmen and talk to Howland Reed, an old friend of his father. Ensure their support and so all the Neck, key step to strengthen the North. Or better, Sansa had said it, and Jon Snow had to admit that her sister, when it was time to make calculations and strategies, knew her business. He still did not know if he could really trust her. At the thought, the scars on his chest began to throb. It was an instinctive reflex every time his thoughts were beginning to think about concepts such as trust, loyalty, honor, sacrifice, selflessness. All he had been and that had led him to the death at the hands of his brothers.

Death. Nothingness. Amazing how, at the thought, he was not at all perturbed. Death itself had been almost a liberation; the true curse was that sense of helplessness and emptiness that he experimented at the return to the life. First, life had a meaning and a purpose, because he thought that eventually there would be a reward. He thought that he would see his father, he would know who his mother was, he would see Robb, and Ygritte. Now even the illusion of life after death had faded miserably, with the first wheezing that he had take in Castle Black.

Jon Snow suddenly realized that the woman's body was no longer stiff and tense. Her arms were relaxed, and her back clung limply to his chest, gently accompanying the gait of the horse. Only her legs were stretched to hold the position, and Jon Snow was surprised to perceive how near her, even his body had relaxed. It was pleasant.

The warmth of another human being in close contact, the darkness began to fall on the horse group while the cold around them grew stronger. Jon Snow was tired, hungry and worried, yet the precarious position, on a narrow two-seat, did not bother him at all. In a short time, something perfectly known, in that mass of blood and flesh that was his body, woke up. He stiffened immediately, trying in vain to get away from the woman, but it was not possible.

Damn.

The senses of Jon, exacerbated by the awkward moment, perceived that the breath of the woman had stopped abruptly, held back, as if she was listening. Shee moved on the saddle and on him, such a slight movement to make him hope that perhaps she had not noticed anything. Or maybe she had noticed, and was pretending nothing. In such situation Ygritte would not waste any time and would launch one of her dirty jokes. In such situation Sansa or another lady would ajar in horror. But the woman instead, seemed to ignore easily the awkward situation and the erection of a king on her back.

Jon Snow tried desperately to think of unpleasant things as possible, as the revolting Craster face or the body of Ramsay Bolton after the treatment that Sansa had reserved him. Luckily, the gimmick was starting to be successful, just in time to the moment when Davos stopped the group ordering them to make camp for the night.

Jon took off his coat and put it on the woman, who had already opened the mouth to fight back.

"I do not want to hear anything. The coat is your, I will put on me the fur coat that I will use tonight.”

She closed her mouth, and big brown eyes watched him without emotion. Jon was to look away, who knows how long it would have gone otherwise. How strange, he thought, in a few moments he saw the woman's expression change from hatred to tears, and then give way to the cold indifference, as if nothing could be the most disturbing.  

A few hours later, instead of sleeping Jon Snow found himself awake and thinking, enclosed within thick bed of fur. They slept in a circle around the fire, except for the woman who had been placed, at the suggestion of Davos, towards the center, closest to the fire. He was tired, Jon Snow, but sleep did not reached him. His head was going around a thousand thoughts that occupied his days. After Death rejected him, the sleep was very hard to come. Even the soft bed of Winterfell had not managed to soften the rocky cliff on which sleep and abandonment crashed every night.

Usually, only few thoughts allowed him to finally close his eyes and sleep, even for a few hours. But this thoughts were always double-edged, which threatened to keep him awake even more. He was thinking of when he was happy, with Ygritte, beyond the Wall. When he could forget about being a bastard, when he was hers and she was his. Sometimes those happy thoughts turned into a bloodbath on his hands and the last sigh of the dying Ygritte, and sleep was still drifting further and further from him.

At that point, it was the last attempt. He returned back even further in time, to when he was at Winterfell, when everyone was still together, when he was an unhappy bastard, when he believed that he was unhappy. Because it would have made a deal with the Gods to go back to that period, he would have loved the disapproving looks of Lady Catelyn, would have been glad to be exiled to the table of squires during the dinners. Because he would had his father, Robb and Bran, and the old Nan, but above all he would had a child with his own eyes, that little girl whose name he dared not even pronounce.

Arrived at that point, the King of the North had only two alternatives. The first, which would have given him a couple of hours in the arms of sleep, was the memory of a smiling little girl clutching Needle. The second, which would have condemned him to a sleepless night without rest, it was the feeling of emptiness that invaded him at the thought that Death had taken with him Arya, and that he would never see her again.

The sunrise, that morning, surprised the King of the North with wide eyes and the mind alert, and a lone tear that wiped dug in cheek. It would have been a long day.

 


	3. Waiting for the eastern glow

"When will we reach Moat Cailinn?" Tormund asked to fellow travelers.

"In a couple of hours, more or less" was the response of Davos.

The group rode for some time, the sun was already beginning to fall his race to the west. Tormund watched the King of the North, who always rode beside him. Also that day, he had taken with him the woman they had picked up along the White Knife. That morning, she cleaned the blood and mud on herself.

Under a braid of brown hair there was a face with a pointed nose and prominent cheekbones, and two dark, cold eyes. She was not a great beauty, but she was not bad. She made a kind of jacket with a fur that were used for the night, and a willow branch, that at least covered the most ragged parts of what had been her dress. It was difficult to accurately determine her age. Her face was thin and her skin sagging, like a woman who had long past thirty, but the rest of her body and her breasts seemed those of a pretty young.

At the beginning , Tormund had giggled, thinking that Jon would like the company of that woman, the day before. To embrace a soft, warm body under the cloak was a sufficiently shrewd move even for Snow the Saint. But then he noticed the dark circles around his eyes, his face pale and drawn, and he proposed to pass the woman on his horse. Jon had not even bothered to respond with a word, merely making a negative sign with his head.

A few more hours, and finally they would arrive at the first stage of their journey. Maybe Jon would like to sleep with the woman, he thought, unable to hold a silent grin. But, just then, they met the first big problem of the day.

"Damn it!" Davos spit out, observing the collapsed bridge. It would link the two banks of a river that flowed into the bottom of a deep gorge. Immediately they realized that it was not possible to get around it, and the only alternative was to go down the canyon with the reins in hand, guiding the horses on foot, between the steep terrain.

The whole operation lasted more than an hour. When they reach the other side they stopped to rest on a small clearing that ran along the trail to Moat Cailinn. In a few kilometers, the path would reach the King's Road. 

Before leaving, some men went off to pee, including the woman, who had taken the opposite direction. Tormund was already back in the saddle, eager to leave, when he heard Jon’s screams.

Where the fuck was Jon? In no time, all men rushed to him, about fifty meters away from the clearing where they had stopped, in the middle of the forest. He was sitting under a tree, his face pale, a fur ball blooding and panting in his arms, while a few feet away from him a man was lying on the ground in a bloodbath, Long Claw stuck in his chest.

It took only a simple look at Tormund to understand that he was dead, his heart pierced. Jon Snow stared wide-eyed and horrified. Only after looking carefully, Tormund realized that the King was holding the woman.

"What the fuck happened Jon?"

"She's dying," he replied, without looking away from the blood that came out copiously from her left side.

\----- -----

The Night fell inside the Tower of Children, at Moat Cailinn. The darkness lay silent in the ruins of the fortress and the men were hiding inside the old stones trying to cover themselves from the cold. Tormund, standing with his back to the door, watched Jon Snow wondering how the hell had he let him out of his sight when a stranger, out of nowhere, had attacked the King in the bush.

The brute inhaled a breath, dropping it almost like a sigh. According to Davos, the murderer's corpse had anything that would indicate who he was or who was his masters.

Jon Snow sat at the bedside of the woman. Tormund himself cleaned and mended her wounds as best that he could. With a little help from the Gods, perhaps she could survive. She had lost a lot of blood and now a high fever made her delirious, despite the poppy milk she had take.

Jon wanted at all costs that she rested in the bed prepared for him. Understandable, since the girl was in danger for him. He had been a little 'shaken by what happened, perhaps because he risked again to be stabbed. For several hours he sat there in silence, watching the heavy breathing and strange screams of the woman who was fighting against Death.

She had been stabbed. A couple of stab wounds, not more, to the left side. One had definitely punched guts, another had ended up on the lung. The blood had stopped going out, but red stains smeared the bandage that they had been able to do. The light of the candles lit up her pale bones, her smooth skin glowed faintly because of the layer of sweat that covered it.

Davos’ voice raid ed from the corner of the room: "How did it happen?"

Jon seemed to awaken from a light doze. He blinked, looking up from the woman, and stared before Davos and then Tormund, looking slightly surprised.

"I have noticed anything. I turned around when she screamed. He was already very close to me, with a dagger in his hand, ready to strike. I jumped back and tried to unsheathe Long Claw, but he gave me a shot in the legs, and I fell. And then she threw herself at him.

Jon’s gaze came to rest on the woman. "Did you see her, didn’t you? She's fast, damn fast, but she was unarmed. The man has planted the dagger once, and she screamed, and then another ... And then, with a knife stuck in her stomach, she planted her thumbs into his eyes. He has freed to defend himself and left the dagger in the flesh.

Jon looked again Tormund, before going on "In that moment I hit him. I know that I would capture him, but I killed him. It was the only thing to do”

"The man said something before he hit you? " Davos asked him.

"Nothing.”

Silence fell again upon them. Nothing could help them figure out who was the killer. Outside the walls of the tower, the cold wind whistled among the snowflakes that began to fall.

"Probably he came from the south. " said Davos. "I wonder who sent him."

The woman began to stir on the bed and she screamed in a foreign language. Jon snapped at her, trying to hold her down. Wearing only a Jon spare shirt she looked really young, narrow hips and firm skin. The pale, sweaty face was streaked with stains and wrinkles.

"It’s braavosi." Davos said.

"What?" Asked Tormund, suddenly distracted by his silent contemplation of the woman, endless questions that faced his mind.

"The language spoken in Braavos, the free city of Essos. She is screaming in braavosi.

"And what is she saying? "Tormund asked.

"Bah, nonsense. Titan has called, Port Viola is in danger, things like that.”

"How the hell can a North peasant speak a language of Essos?”

"If she survives we could ask her. Maybe she is a braavosi who came to live in the North.”

"Strange woman. The stabbing of today are not her first one.”

“What? "Jon asked, raising his face to look directly into the wilding’s eyes.

Tormund stepped forward, pointing with his finger to the abdomen of the woman. "She has a lot of scars in her belly, still red. Not many months ago.”

The silence fell again over the men. The frozen wind blowing outside.

"Gentlemen, I would say this is a good sign, "continued Davos, clapping together the palms of his hands" It means that this woman has a thick skin. If she has won the death once, she will make it again.”

"If she can pass the night, I think that we’ll see this little face very soon. I go to sleep. "Tormund took his leave, followed by Davos.

Left alone, Jon Snow turned to the woman, Ygraine. It was her name. He made some effort to pronounce it, because it was too similar to the name of the last woman who had counted something for him.

Who was Ygraine? That question could no longer be ignored. A peasant of the north can’t speak braavosi, or use daggers to kill great men twice her size. A peasant of the north don’t stick her fingers into the eye of a killer who has just planted a knife in her ribs. Doesn’t wear scars of other bolo su fights on her body .

She was very brave, and had a certain technique in fighting. Jon Snow wanted to learn more about this woman, he wanted to see her with a bow in hand, or a spear. He would have liked her fighting between the wilding in the next war against the Others. If only she could survive.

Death did not deserve her, yet. Nothing was to be expected. Jon Snow did not notice that, while his mind was trying to formulate a prayer for Ygraine, his head rested on the bed skins, a short distance from the shoulder of the woman.

Among the last thoughts that brought him to sleep, Jon Snow heard the thin voice of a beloved child pronounce little more than a whisper: "Not today." And he fell asleep, with the face of the little girl to keep him company.


	4. Interlude - Dance in the dark of the night

 

_Jon Snow was dreaming._

_He walked through Winterfell’s crypt._

_He was still a child and his siblings walked with him._

_There were also Hodor, Theon Greyjoy, Jeyne Poole and some other boy of the castle. Bran and Rickon were missing, perhaps because they were too young._

_In the dream, the crypts were huge, and they couldn’t get out, but he didn’t care._

_Robb was with him, laughing and joking, running in front of everyone._

_Sansa and Jeyne hugged tight, frightened by Theon jokes._

_Jon Snow was happy._

_He held Arya’s warm little hand, and kept walking._

_He could not see her, in the dream, but he knew she was there, he heard her voice speaking. He led her through the crypts._

_She laughed._

 

Jon Snow awoke. The candles were extinguished, and the room was dark, but he still held his sister’s warm hand. He blinked a few times, hearing Ygraine’s steady breathing. He was holding her hand.

He raised his head, trying to see something in the dim light coming through the vents, but it was useless. Listening. Ygraine was fast asleep, he could hear her quiet breathing. In the darkness, he put his hand to her forehead, as Lady Catelyn had done with him the only time he was sick as a child.

The forehead was cool. The fever had passed. Smiling in the darkness, Jon Snow stroked Ygraine’s right cheek. Still half asleep, he let his hand slip on her neck and then on her shoulder. It was so smooth, it was so pleasant to caress ...

Sleep overtook him again, and this time he laid his head on the pillow, a few centimeters from Ygraine’s head.

 

_He slept again, and dreamed again._

_This time he was beyond the barrier, with Ygritte._

_They walked in the snow._

_Ygritte turned to him and laughed._

_She told him that he knew nothing and kissed him._

_They continued to walk in the cold, and Jon Snow was happy._

_Ygritte hugged him and laughed, his nose in her hair that smelled of blood and snow._


	5. Sing to the morning light

 

Jon Snow woke. He felt in the nose the tickling of Ygritte’s hair, and on his fingers the sensation of her smooth skin. He opened his eyes, feeling the warmth of a woman's body pressed against his.

He was embracing Ygraine. The light of the full day came undisturbed in the room, illuminating the bloodstained sheets, her white and translucent skin covering her bones, flesh and muscles. Jon Snow felt again like when he was a boy and had slept hugging Ygritte, years before. 

He stood up, leaning on his elbow, only to discover with great embarrassment that Ygraine was awake. And as always, she stood silent as if nothing had happened.

Jon Snow cleared his throat, sitting up in bed. He was still half dressed, and it was clear that he had not taken advantage of her in his sleep, but he felt huge embarrassment. It was the second time that Ygraine turn him on, and it was the second time she acted like nothing had happened.

"How are you?" He asked.

"I've had better wake up." She said hoarsely. "Who sewed me?"

"Tormund."

"The wildling?"

"Yes. He was the only one of us to know of how to patch up a wound." 

Ygraine closed her eyelids, biting her pale lips with a grimace of pain. She was very weak, two deep dark spots under the eyes. Jon Snow felt the urge to stroke her hair, to give her a little comfort, but he stopped himself..

He got up from the bed, to fetch water for her. He put the edge of the cup to her lips, and she drank slowly, her eyes fixed on the covers of the bed. Whatever she thought at that time, she was very good at hiding it behind a mask of imperturbability.

"I'll bring something to eat right away, then we will have to get changed the bandages," he said, sitting down on the chair placed beside the bed.

Ygraine gave a nod with his head.

"And later, after you have slept a little more, you  are going to tell me who you are, where you come from, and how the hell did you know that there was a trap to kill me."

\-------

By nightfall, the chill wind had brought more snow. The snowstorm was raging outside the walls, while Ygraine told her story.

"I was born in Winter Town, near the castle of Winterfell. When I was little I have rarely seen your Lord father, but I remember very well your uncle Brandon and your aunt Lyanna. " Ygraine started to talk, looking towards the King of the North.

"My parents died during the Rebellion, and I lived with my younger brothers. After a few years a distant relative brought me with him to White Harbour, and had put me in service of Manderly house. Unfortunately the Manderlys no longer needed me, so they kicked me and I ended up begging on the streets.

Some Braavos merchants found me and brought me with them. I was just a child, and they put me to sell fish on a cart along the city's canals. I lived in Braavos until last year, when I took the sea to return to my homeland.”

JonSnow stared at her for a long time. Her story made sense.

"You know very welhow to fight, Ygraine" the deep voice of Davos spoke, a crumb of sympathy in his words. "Did you learn it in Braavos?"

"Yes."

"What else can you do? Can you use a bow? " Tormund asked her.

"A little, but not very well. In Braavos we use other weapons. I learned to use knife, stick and sword.”

"Sword? "Tormund asked incredulously. "You're too thin to hold it!"

"Tormund, our Ygraine speaks of braavosi blades, thin and fatal." Davos intervened. He returned immediately to fix the woman, a light of interest in his eyes "so you're able to do the Water Dance?"

"Sure!" She said, a glimmer of pride and arrogance in her reply. "I learned from the best swordsman of the Lord of the Sea, before he left to go to Westeros."

"And why Syrio Forel himself would have taught the Water Dance to a fishwife?" Davos urged, suddenly serious.

Ygraine didn’t answer right away . She raised her chin and stared at the man for a long time. "These are questions a bit too personal, Ser Davos. Especially for a lady."

"So were you fucking him? " Tormund asked, earning a fierce look from the woman and a desperate one from Jon Snow.

"Well, Ygraine. We know that you can ride, handling a dagger and fight, and you are brave" the woman looked at him, her eyes dark and unreadable."You say you can do the Water Dance. One day I would like to see you, I've always been curious about braavosi blades and that way of fighting." In that sentence, the ghost of a smile passed fleeting in the eyes of Jon Snow.

"You're also very smart, and you're been able to figure out the ambush. You pretend to be away, when in fact you were going somewhere else. But now, go on with your story, please. I don’t think a woman with all these qualities remained a fishmonger all these years." For the first time since they had met, Ygraine's lips curved into a half smile, pointed towards the King of the North.

"Indeed. Someone had noticed me, and someone thought I could be useful in another way. They gave me the opportunity to have a different future, to become someone... "  her voice faltered "or better, none."

Both Jon and Tormund furrowed the eyebrows in puzzlement. Davos however, froze on instead, immediately grasping the real meaning of the phrase. He swallowed, looking at the two men with some concern.

"I don’t understand" Tormund said, irritated that Ygraine and Davos were talking about something he did not comprehend. She kept staring at them, while Davos remained silent. He was carefully thinking about the next thing to say. The woman was not a person to be reckoned with.

"What does that mean?" Jon Snow asked.

Slowly looking up at him, the knight of onions answered with another question. "What do you know, Your Grace, about the Faceless Men?"

A shiver passed on Jon Snow's back, before answering. "Murderers who kill for money. They know a thousand and one ways to kill, and disappear soon after. Lethal, expensive and, they say, invisible." 

Davos returned to lay his eyes on the woman. "They are not invisible Jon, because here with us there is a Faceless Woman."

The woman merely return the gaze. Davos stood up, taking a step toward the bed, and looked down, staring into her eyes. "The question is just one Ygraine, if this is your real name. What were you doing in a northern village, dressed as a peasant?" 

Her expressionless face furrowed. She sat up on the bed, shoulders forward, staring at Davos. "I escaped. If I had stayed in Braavos, I would never see my brothers, in Winter Town. " She then began to look at her hands. "Only when I got home, I knew that my brothers were all dead."

The wind howled louder and Davos rose to his feet, staring at the woman. Jon Snow shivered involuntarily. 

"Sorry" the King whispered.

Ygraine turned toward him. "The younger, my Lord, was killed by the Iron Men, when they arrived to conquer Winterfell," she said with a hint of tenderness in her voice. Jon Snow's chest queezed in a vise of pain.

"My older brother was part of your father's guard, in King's Landing. I heard that he was killed by men of the Lannister, when they captured Lord Eddard."

The King of the North began to tremble. He closed his eyes, to hide the desperate look of Ygraine, to mask his own pain.

"The last male brother I had left was among the soldiers of the Young Wolf" 

Jon opened his eyes, only to see the tears that Ygraine tried to hide, her head bowed down. There was no need for her to finish the sentence. Jon came up, and this time he didn’t hold back.

He put his hand on her shoulder, trying to give her the comfort that he never had. Ygraine rolled on him her eyes full of tears. Something cracked inside of him, he forgot Tormund’s jokes and Davos concern. Jon bent to hug her.

The wind howled its rage, while in the room Davos and Tormun could hear the quiet sobs of Ygraine. Every so often, they could hear someone pull up the nose.

Tormund stood up, waving Davos to go out with him. The onions knight was not convinced to leave his king alone with a murderer. But in the end, it seemed she had no reason to hurt Jon, and he resigned himself to leave them alone.

Jon Snow could not say how long he remained there, embracing a sobbing Ygraine because of a desperation that he had never been able to cry. He held her, rocking her slowly. Gestures that he believed forgotten take hold of him. He rested his cheek on the head of Ygraine, gently rubbing her back. It was a dull pain thinking of his brothers and his father, but keeping close Ygraine made everything more bearable.

She slipped her hand in his, squeezing stronger. Even Arya did so, when she came in tears to be comforted by him after another scolding from Lady Catelyn. After an eternity, Ygraine pulled away, lifting his head toward him.

"Please, Your Grace. Let me come with you. You drove out the Bolton and took back the North to the Starks". Her hands tightened around his arms. "Let me be at your service. I can be your bodyguard, I can infiltrate the ranks of your enemies."

Ygraine’s eyes, usually so indecipherable, were lit by a fire that he had never seen. Something familiar, but undefined, flashed in her eyes.

"I will be useful in your battle against the Lannisters, the Freys, and all those who have done wrong to us..."

Jon Snow glanced at her, and in that moment he realized how beautiful she was. The icy fire of vengeance burning deep inside her eyes made her so terrifying, beautiful and tempting.

He stroked her hair again, a tangled heap that almost snatched him a smile.

"My battle, Ygraine, is against an enemy much worse than the Lannisters. "He told her, looking in her icy and burning eyes. "But you're right, you could be a valuable aid to what lies ahead. " At these words, a smile made its way through the woman's lips. Jon Snow did not notice, but he was smiling, too. His right hand had slipped, without even realizing it, to caress her cheek.

"Rest Ygraine, and heal. When the storm ceases, I want you to come with us in search of the Tower of Grey Water." Jon Snow stood up, heading for the door.

"Where are you going my Lord? " she asked.

"I’m going to sleep”.

"This is your bedroom. Sleep here." replied Ygraine, relaxing on the cushions.

"I don’t think it would be proper."

"Are you afraid of me?"

"Not at all." 

"Then stay here. Otherwise someone could say that the King of the North is afraid of a woman in his bed. "

Jon Snow tightened his lips. He did not understand the game that she was playing, but he decided to not give her the satisfaction to embarrass him. He turned and took off his clothes. He got into bed, beside her, and blew out the candle.

A few minutes later, as the wind continued to blow cold, Jon Snow whispered in the darkness: "One last thing, for what it's worth. Walder Frey, the man who betrayed the Starks to the Red Wedding, was killed, together with his sons. Your brother has been avenged."

"I know, " Ygraine replied with a smile. He could not see it, but he could hear it in her voice. "I killed him."

Among the horror and admiration, Jon Snow thought that it was better to have a woman like that in his bed, rather than have her as an enemy.


	6. The magic runes are writ in gold

 

  
The winter, down in The Neck, had already arrived. Jon Snow looked around, searching with his eyes a new path through the dead vegetation covered with snow. Bare trees, crossed by the remains of climbing plants of all kinds, stood anywhere on the ground, and there was no trace of any path. It was even a fortune, that was so cold.  
Icy swamps made easier going on through the land that in the summer was only impenetrable swamps. However, he advanced cautiously on thin ice layer, and he could not help but think that even if it was simplest didn't mean any less dangerous. End up in the icy water, with those temperatures, it would be a big mistake.  
The same caution that he employed to advance through the frozen marshes, Jon Snow applied to its interactions with Ygraine. It was certainly easier to deal with her, now that he knew who she was and what were her goals, but at the same time getting to know her pain had opened a way to the chill that was hidden in her heart.  
Jon felt terribly attracted by everything in Ygraine was well hidden, beginning with her thoughts. Night after night, they had shared the same bed in Moat Cailinn, among the worried looks of Ser Davos and the grins of Tormund. They fell asleep well apart from each other, and then woke up in the middle of the night, most of the time embraced. The King of the North was still struggling to get to sleep, and sometimes Ygraine, maybe because she heard him fussing in bed, hummed softly an old lullaby from the North.  
Sometimes the melody made him think of his brother Robb, when they were children and slept in the same bed with the nanny who was singing for them to sleep. Sometimes he thought of Arya, as he hummed the same tune to his sister, who arrived scared in his bed whenever she had a bad dream. Sometimes Jon did not think of anything, and went to sleep guided by the voice of Ygraine and her caresses that slid between his temples.  
And it was during those nights that the King of the North brutally awoke, Ygraine body upon his, the urge to reach under her robe and to slid his member inside her belly. Still, his honor made it hard to reach out to that body, and his heart kept him from seeking comfort in that tempting flesh, until the soul that was hiding behind remained so cold and indecipherable.  
The same Ygraine did not make things easy. She was offering her caresses and her body with a disarming ease, as if they weren't hers. Sometimes she teased him more or less openly, yet the wickedness that came from her seemed at times so calculated to be almost bothersome. It seemed made on purpose to embarrass him, but then Ygraine withdrew from him, returning to her face expressionless, to her eyes distant and to her long silences.  
They stopped in a clearing. The group was really small: only he, Tormund and Ygraine. It did not take long to realize that it was better be few people and ready for anything to move smoothly in sizing icy marshes. Jon Snow felt comfortable with those two. It was clear that the wildling had a soft spot for her. Ygraine, for her part, was much less gloomy and indifferent, when she was alone with them.  
Later, after making camp for the night and after eating two slices of stale bread and a handful of dried meat, they went to sleep, huddled together among the bearskins that kept at bay frost.  
"Will we ever find this Greywater Watch? Since ten days we are going in this hole, Jon "debuted Tormund, looking at the ceiling of the tent of skins that they had assembled.  
"We have to find it," sighed the King of the North.  
"Yes, but sooner or later, if you do not find it, we'll go back."  
Jon was silent. It was not an eventuality that he liked, but he would have to reckon with the possibility that Howland Reed maintained his isolation. It was clear that the crannogmen could remain hidden, if they wanted to.   
After a bit 'of time, the voice of the brute emerged from the darkness.  
"Jon Snow, do you explain something to me?"  
"Tell me"  
"Why the fuck did you have to be the one to sleep in the middle?"  
Jon and Ygraine chuckled softly.  
"Because I'm the King of the North Tormund, and you are my guard." Said Jon with a thin amusement in his voice, "You must protect me, I have to stay safe as a child, and especially be warm"  
"What bullshit," snorted the wildling "you're not my king. And I think you're just jealous."  
"Jealous?" Jon snapped incredulously, turning his head to watch him while Ygraine laughed. "And you don't laugh!" he said pretending to be offended. In fact, Jon was in love with Ygraine’s laugh. So strange about her, and yet full of life. It carried an old and beloved echo, that warmed his heart. Sometimes, Jon could hear the laughter of his Arya.  
"Yes, jealous!" Shot Tormund fervently. "You know that if Ygraine feel the pressure of my vigorous member she will fall in love with me and never want your tiny little prick anymore!"  
"Tormund !!!" The scandalized voice of Jon mingled with the laughter of Ygraine.  
"Do you think it's elegant to boast your skills in a manner so shameless before the lady?" Sayd Jon, knowing that the Ygraine laugh would not be stopped so easily in this way.  
"And then, you misunderstand. between me and Ygraine... "  
"Yes, yes, right. In fact, you keep her for yourself! "  
"She's not a horse, or a fur ... She's a person!"  
"Your Grace, after all, I am one of your subjects. It would be your right to have me however you like” Ygraine’s voice suddenly came serious, though not without a certain malice. As if on cue, the woman had moved languidly beneath the skin that covered them, approaching him.  
"Oh oh, Jon !! Would you tell me that you have not yet grasped the homage that our Ygraine is so anxious to give you? "  
At that point, Jon Snow did not know whether to continue the dialogue so mortifying, to the hilarity of his fellow travelers, or whether to put an end to the unfortunate turn that it was taking. Almost as if sensing his discomfort, Ygraine began to hum the lullaby of Winterfell.  
"What songs is it, woman?"  
"Just a lullaby Tormund, so maybe my children will finally fall asleep."  
Jon was giggling then, while Tormund beside him muttered offended. He closed his eyes and he was soothed by the sound of Ygraine’s voice, and the sweet melody of his childhood slowly rocked him to the fields of sleeping.

\------

The next morning they set off to the south at first light, when they finished to dismantle the small camp. A new day began, and they made their way between the ghost of marsh and vegetation.  
It was already almost noon, when the feet of Jon Snow began to wallow in an ice brown slime.  
There was water under his foot.  
"Strange. So we went so far south. And it is still cold, "remarked Ygraine, frowning.  
"The fog is rising." Tormund said.  
Jon sighed, and began to think.  
"We have to stop," he decided to say "we are going to get lost here, without any reference point to go." He watched the slime beneath his feet. Bad sign. One false step, and they would die among the many sizing traps, in quicksand or into the jaws of one of the mysterious creatures that roamed the water.   
"And if we were to go back? To the north, " the wildling asked.  
"We could do it. But only to return to Moat Cailinn, not to find the Gray Water Watch. " Ygraine answered.  
"No. We’ll wait here for the night. Tomorrow maybe the fog will go away and we can continue. "  
They remounted the camp, and made a fire to cook the food ration planned for that day. At least, the light of the flames warmed away the moisture that penetrated through the cloaks. The hours passed slowly, waiting for nightfall, to finally get to sleep. Few jokes of Tormund, Ygraine’s laugh. Jon Snow watched every move of the quiet woman, she didn't miss nothing of the North King breath.  
Finally came the sunset, at least judging by the tone between pink and orange that had taken on the wall of fog. Suddenly, the dense mist began to open up in front of them, revealing icy reed beds, large darkening sky pieces among the first of the night lights glowing dimly.  
Jon Snow, Tormund and Ygraine watched with amazement the outline of a set of huts that rose above the reeds. High wooden walls and mud stood on the same night lights. The King of the North repeatedly blinked in disbelief. The building rested on tall stilts, that stuck objects inside a huge swamp, as the darkness and the fog swirled around.  
In front of them, it had opened a wooden walkway leading to the wooden stand on which rested the building. Along a parapet, a score of small men was watching them. Jon Snow could not believe his eyes. Days spent searching for Gray Water Watch, and had been the Watch itself to find them.


	7. To bring  the balance back

 

That night, sleep welcomed Jon Snow as soon he laid his head on the pillow. The crannogmen had let them in, silent as the fog that enveloped their home. He had asked of Lord Reed, but an old servant told that the Lord had given orders to seat them for the night, and who would receive them the next morning.  
After many nights spent outdoors, a warm indoor bed was the most wonderful stuff he could hope for. His dreams were not troubled by any of Winterfell dream of times gone by, no dream of the ice beyond the barrier. Nor memories of the love he had received, or nightmares of the love that had been stolen from him.  
Still, Jon Snow was dreaming.  
He was in Moat Cailinn, in the room he shared with Ygraine for a few days. It was morning, the light flooded the room, the snow falling outside. The Neck no longer existed, and even  Greywater Watch. Under the blankets he was warm and cozy. He hugged close Ygraine, caressed her, breathed her scent. She laughed.  
That laughter, uncontrollable.  
He felt the thin arms of Ygraine around his chest, her hands gliding on his back. He could feel her breath on his face, and then her lips pressed against his. He felt her mouth, her warmth, her legs around his waist. He felt her flesh open up obediently for the invasion of his member. He could hear the groans and sighs, he felt tight and hot inside of her.  
He could feel the orgasm that took him as he lost himself in the folds and warmth of Ygraine.  
Jon Snow awoke.  
Shit, he had cum in his sleep. What the heck was this? He was no longer a teenager! Maybe he was wrong not to touch Ygraine, when he had the chance. What was it that kept him from reaching out to her?  
His old dread, to father another bastard, had faded over the years. It had shrunk gradually. When behind the barrier he realized that he would have liked a brat of his, perhaps with red hair. When he discovered that being a bastard was still burning, but had not prevented him nor to become Lord Commander nor to become King of the North. When he realized that being a happy and loved bastard was not so terrible.  
He sat up on the bed, running a hand through his hair. It was all absurd. He remembered the words of Ygraine "It would be your right to have me however you like." A shiver ran down his spine. Who knows, maybe they were words such as this that make his father forget his own honor, when Jon himself had been conceived.  
A muffled scream ripped through the silence. Jon Snow got up to his feet. It was the voice of Ygraine, like the night she was delirious in Moat Cailinn. He was soon out of his room, only to come face to face with Tormund, still half asleep.  
"What's going on Jon?"  
"I don’t know," he said, and tried to open the door by forcing the lock. The shouts of Ygraine continued. Exasperated, Jon Snow opened the door pushing with his shoulder, rushing to her bedside, out of breath, only to find her asleep and prey to nightmares. He knelt beside her, caressing her agitated face.  
"Again," Tormund said laconically. He was meant to be sarcastic and cynical, but he took  two steps toward the bed, looking Ygraine with a worried face.  
"She often has these nightmares," he said.  
"Who doesn't have any?"  
Jon Snow caressed her face and arms, something about him that was breaking at every groan in that unknown language. He dreamed the death of Ygritte, of Rickon, his men become undead. He dreamed, without seeing them, the deaths of his father, Robb, Arya.  
"Who knows what she is dreaming. I do not understand is the language "Tormund echoed his thoughts. A lighted candle had materialized in his hands, and he leaned on the table. Perhaps Ygraine dreamed the moment when his brothers had left for good.  
"Jon! No! " Ygraine screamed in her sleep, and Jon Snow's heart tightened even more.  
"Shhh, I'm here ..." He whispered in her ear. His nostrils were invaded by the smell of her, and his body reacted instantly. He cursed himself, at that time. She suffered alone in her nightmares and the only thing that he thought was fucking her.  
Ygraine began to cry in her sleep. d  
Desperate sobs racked her chest and her hands began to tear trands of hair. Jon Snow grabbed her wrists to prevent her from getting hurt. Ygraine yelled desperate, deaf and blind to his presence.  
"Maybe you'd better wake her, Jon"  
"They say not to wake the dreamer, or the soul remains a prisoner of the nightmare ..."  
"Bah, Jon bullshit! You do not understand? She is dreaming that you're dead! Wake her, and make her understand that you are alive! " Tormund Shouted, coming out of the room angrily. In a motion of anger, he slammed the door behind him.  
The ping of the lock that snaps went out into the room, among the desperate sobs of Ygraine. Jon looked at her. It was too painful to see her in that condition. He took her under the arms, making her sit on the bed.  
"Wake Ygraine" he ordered her, squeezing her face in her hands. "I'm here, wake up!" He repeated in a louder voice.  
She opened her eyelids all at once, her eyes full of tears and terror. As soon as she focused on his face, Jon saw the most beautiful smile that he had ever seen. A smile that flashed him instantly. A smile that was everything to him.  
"Jon! you're alive! " She whispered, hugging him tight. He said yes, rubbing her back, holding her. Ygraine repeated his name as if it was a way to keep him there. It was strange to hear the sound of that syllable out of her lips. She had never called him by his given name, but always my lord, or King Jon. While breathing the smell of her hair, he wondered how it would be to hear her moaning his name. He forced himself to keep away those thoughts, but he felt Ygraine's body press against his, and it was not at all easy.  
"I'm so happy!" She exclaimed, loosening a little the embrace to touch his cheek with her lips, light as a bird. A series of kisses rained on his face. Jon’s heart instantly recognized the gesture, and he closed his eyes to the pain of loss while his skin get excited at that contact so intimate.  
Arya. Arya kissed him in the same exact way, with the innocence and love of a child for her big brother. Yet, despite the gestures of Ygraine brought to his mind the pure love of his sister, with that gesture the darkest part of his soul was now gone beyond all scruples, beyond any hesitation, beyond any sense of honor.  
He pressed her to himself even more, his arms around her narrow waist, his hands feeling just the thin layer of the shirt she was wearing (his shirt, Jon remembered) and he itched by the desire to get under the cloth, to feel her warmth and her flesh.  
He felt Ygraine hold her breath, waiting. With his eyes still closed, Jon slipped his forehead resting against hers, touching her nose with his, as he did with his sister when they were children. He inhaled deeply woman's scent, intoxicated.  
"Kill the boy, Jon Snow, and let the man be born." Maester Aemon's words came back to his mind. Every nerve, every muscle, every drop of blood of his body wanted Ygraine. His mouth snapped all the vacillation and indecision, and fell hungry on her lips.

 

\-----

At last the sun is shining

  
Ygraine’s lips were inexperienced and hesitant, but it was not a problem for Jon. A part of him almost astonished for his aggressive moves, with her face in his hands, and those lips that he was touching, biting, licking relentlessly. Until Ygraine’s tongue began to meet his, bite on the bite, while her hands gripped his biceps getting stronger and his body was pressing more and more against her.  
His tongue and his teeth began to draw more and more daring paths on the white neck of Ygraine, on her thin shoulders, and his hands raised her shirt to make their way to the skin of her thighs.  
This was not a dream.  
Ygraine groaned, pressing even more against him, her hands tucked into his hair. This was not a dream. His tongue traced wet paths between the white collar bones, and his hands touched the thin skin of Ygraine’s thighs, climbing implacably towards her groin.  
It was then that he felt her teeth bite the skin of his neck. Jon let out a grunt.  
"Ygraine!" He murmured, raising a look of fire on her, who had stopped suddenly, and looked straight into his eyes. Sagging skin of her face had flushed cheeks and swollen lips, while she was breathing hard. Her dark eyes, in the dim light of the candle, seemed almost of another color.  
"Don't call me that," she whispered "Ygraine is not my name, as this is not my face."  
"As you like. So how can I call you? " He asked opening her shirt, his hungry eyes following the curves of shoulders and breasts as they followed the skin bare from the fabric.  
"Whatever you want" she cut short "except Ygraine". The hands of Jon now had completely opened her shirt, letting it fall behind her. His hands rested lightly on the woman's waist, slowly slipping on her scarred abdomen and her warm and smooth back.  
It was not a dream.  
"And this? It's yours or not? "Jon asked, stroking her hips with an open hand up to her breast. She let out a groan. "Your body. It's your real flesh that I'm touching, or some Faceless’s magic? " He concluded, when his greedy fingers crept between her legs.  
She replied with a groan again, first closing her thighs on Jon's hand, and then opening them altogether.  
"Is that a yes?" He continued, touching her breasts with his lips. She did not speak, eyes closed while her hips swayed to the touch of his hand, her legs opened wide in front of his eyes. Jon slipped his fingers even more inside her, his knuckles that were pressing on the small pile of flesh and pleasure that made her moan.  
She opened her eyes again, and this time Jon was speechless. Among the heavy eyelids of the woman's face that he called Ygraine, two gray irises were staring at him. His own eyes. Eyes full of desire, greed, desire to possess. Jon did not know if what he read there was the soul of her or his own. A shiver of apprehension run through his back, but the heat of Ygraine around his fingers and her hard nipples between his lips silenced all of his doubts.  
He kept to touch her, Jon Snow, never taking his eyes off her. He watched hungry every expression, every grimace, every moan of her, the slightest variation that saw moving in the warm flesh in contact with his fingers, open in front of his eyes. He could feel the blood pulsing through his veins, the smell of her sex mingled with frost and mud of her clothes. He would not have lasted much longer. The urgency to sink inside her did move his hands even faster, with groans of her that had the sound of his name.  
Until he couldn't get more, and fell back on her mouth, to bite, suck, lick, touch, and then down on her neck, while the flesh around his fingers clutched and loosened, and he touched her small and white with his tongue... He raised his head to look at her cum. Long lashes closed over those gray eyes staring at him in a trance, while small white teeth nipped a pair of red and fleshy lips. He had never noticed that her teeth were so beautiful. Cheeks flushed with pleasure, the skin taut as her head arched, Jon thought that he would have committed the most abominable of sins just for this woman.  
Her mouth opened and her eyes too, in an expression of infinite amazement as her flesh writhed in uncontrollable spasms around Jon’s fingers. Her strangled voice repeated his name like a prayer. She was a sight to watch, she was beautiful, she was different, she was young, as if the mists of the pleasure had broken the magic barrier that changed her face.  
She was undone, totally surrendered. For the first time, Jon saw a lively expression on her countenance. The mask of Faceless woman had fallen.  
Jon pushed his hand away, relaxing at her side. She kept breathing heavily, staring at him with narrowed eyes. He stroked her face, watching her carefully. A heart shaped face with two big, huge gray eyes looking at him as if he were at the center of her universe. Jon Snow heart skipped a beat.  
"It is this, then?"  
"What?" She asked, her voice suddenly different, more vibrant, full of emotion. Wide eyes shone on him.  
"Your true face".  
His eyebrows furrowed, as her hands began patting her face. "Oh shit!" She exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief, sitting up in bed. "How could this happen?" She ran her hands through her hair. Jon remarked that even those were changed. Darker, almost the same color of his.  
Jon Snow raised his torso, leaning on his elbows. He reached the palm towards her to caress her face, brushing a lock off her eyes. His fingers still got tears. He watched again as those huge gray eyes rested on him, the fear of rejection that made her small and helpless.  
"Now you're hating me," she said between sobs.  
"No, I can't." he whispered in her ear, bringing her closer to him. She let herself go back to his kisses, his caresses, his hands again traveling along the skin of her back, hips, breasts. Jon stopped to look at her again, that little white body covered with scars, who finally got along with the facial features of the girl who was looking at his right hand resting on her breast. "You look beautiful," he said between kisses, making her stretch beneath him.  
"Really?" She asked, almost like she did not believe it, as if he was the only one who ever found her beautiful. Bright eyes shone with a love that Jon had never seen in any other face, if not that of his little sister. Again that sense of pain in his chest. That terrible doubt that he tried to keep in check, in some rare moment. Still, the burning desire devouring his entrails left no room for any scruples. He was alone, with that less and less unknown woman, naked in his arms. They were in a place where so many had doubted the existence.  
"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he whispered against her throat "and I'm dying to fuck you." She hugged him, dropping kisses into his hair, her hands down his hips, touching slowly, making him wince.  
"I love you, Jon," came the treacherous voice. The heart of the King of the North shook another time. Small calloused hands slipped under his shirt, stroking his back. Uncertain, at first they slipped on his abdomen, giving him a thrill, and then on his dick. Jon Snow kept his gaze on her. Those huge eyes, the same as his, those beloved eyes who loved him back, offering him her body, raising her hips toward him, inviting him to take whatever he like without hesitation. No one would ever know, if not their hearts.  
With a final grunt, Jon closed his eyes and opened her legs when he slipped into her sex, trying to satiate the slow and inexorable hunger of her that had owned him since the first day. Perhaps since ever.  
He closed his eyes to avoid seeing the immense love that emanated from her eyes. He closed his eyes to silence that voice inside of him saying that he was committing an abomination. He closed his eyes to hear her, just her, her mouth and her heart, her cunt and her soul, her body and her smell.  
Her. Alive. With every thrust, a sigh that carried their name. And instead of being horrified, as he should be, Jon Snow was wildly happy.  
With every thrust, every kiss, every caress, a whisper.  
Those lips that captured his, biting his heart. That hungry tongue fighting with his. That thin and soft body quivering beneath his. Jon Snow got up, relying on his arms, looking at her again. Alive. She was beautiful. And smart. And dangerous, deadly dangerous. And she was his.  
He left her to move in the middle of the bed, and he saw the blood on himself. Something in his chest broke. At that moment, the enormity of his selfishness is revealed in all its horror. He looked up at her, to apologize, but her mouth was on him and all second thoughts melted like snow near the Greywater Watch. Jon was back inside her, between her legs and in her heart, in the place where he had always been.  
She was his. Just his, and of no one else, ever. At that thought, he moved his hips into her, deeper and deeper, faster and faster.  
"I love you, Jon" she kept whispering among the moans, her hands on his back, gripping him more. In a flash, a thousand images crowded his mind. The cold blade of the his brothers stabbing him. The scars along her abdomen, while his hands rested on her hips. The cloak that he had put on her at the White Knife. A pile of furs and blood in his arms. That naked body arching under his ... His little sister's hand in his. The nights in Moat Cailinn lulled by her voice. Gray eyes clouded with pleasure watching him.  
"Arya" Jon whispered eventually, inexorably losing himself in the flesh of the woman who had finally managed to possess, body and soul, while his orgasm poured into the belly of his beloved sister.

 


	8. The clouds of blue roll by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many of you are curious to know Arya POV in these early chapters. So this chapter is about Arya's thoughts in Greywater Watch.

The clouds of blue roll by

She woke in the darkness.  
A deep silence enveloped her and her senses slowly started recording the reality as it was. A rhythmic and regular breathing near her. The pressure of another's forearm above her waist. A sudden pain between her legs.  
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her heart that started to beat furiously in her chest. And immediately Jon’s scent wrapped her, along with the memory of his body that towered above her.  
Slowly, her hand began to caress his brother's arm, from the wrist to the elbow, and back again. She had wished to do so for a long time. Touching, hugging, kissing him, like she did when they were children. In her heart, in all those years of separation, Jon had remained the silent and gentle fourteen years old who had given her Needle. On the banks of the White Knife, she had found a silent and magnanimous king who had given her shelter.  
A king with a scarred face, and with a heart that, she knew, had suffered worse injuries than those imposed by the weapons of the men. Yet, despite the sad look he had in his eyes, she had the opportunity to see how much deadly a Valyrian steel sword could have been in his hands. A shiver ran down her spine. Not at the idea of the lives that those hands had taken, but feeling the chaos that hands had unleashed inside her.  
Jon Snow, the King of the North, was an enigma to some, but not for her. There were so many things she did not know about him and about those last years, but she knew all too well most of his suffering. She had counted them one by one, the tears that he had never cried, but smothered in the depths of his heart. She had counted them during the night of her fake confession, in Moat Cailinn, when she concealed the deaths of his father and his brothers in Ygraine's story.  
Jon’s gray eyes looked like two chasms ready to swallow her in his grief. How had he managed to get on with that weight in his heart? She had had her revenge to keep her steady, standing in the wreckage of her life in the sea of war, but Jon? She knew that even for him it was not been easy. In the long northern nights, Jon had never had her list, to be repeated as a prayer, to get restful sleep.  
Yet, at that moment she smiled, thinking that he was sleeping like a blessed child, in the dark and mysterious Greywater Watch. She was the guardian of the serene sleep of his brother, as deep as his breathing, heavy as the arm that held her close to himself. She had fallen asleep without even realizing it, hold on to Jon that kept repeating her name, and saying that she was alive, and kissing her everywhere.  
She'd forgotten what it was like to be loved, in those years of wandering between Westeros and Essos, but Jon’arms around her waist were enough to remind her of the warmth of his brother, during that first ride along the White Knife.  
When she had felt the unmistakable pressure coming from the groin of the King, she had been totally appalled. Not because his brother had an erection, after all he was a healthy young man, but because she was the one causing it.  
Since very young, she was alone on the streets of the world, and she had quickly learned that men wanted women's bodies. Later, in Braavos, she had learned that women often wanted men. Usually, women use the sexual desire of men for their purposes. In this framework, that she perceived as normal, she was inserted as a girl among so many, nice or ugly depending on the face she wore. Like many others, she had learned to use the desire of men for her purposes. What she had given of her body was always commensurate with the importance of the purpose that she wanted to get in return for her favors. She had still not found in her life something that it would be worth to spread her legs apart under a man’s body. Or maybe she was still too young, but the years she carried on her would be enough to get married and give birth. Or perhaps, simply, she had not yet met a man that had awaken her desire.  
Until she found Jon near the White Knife.  
And just as she had felt the warmth of his brother, even if he didn't knew who she was, he wanted her. Jon Snow, the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, the King of the North. Not a Braavosi fisherman or a sailor from the Narrow Sea. Not a dark and dirty man, ready to pounce on the first female alone and helpless in the streets of King's Landing. Unlike fishermen and farmers, Jon was young and handsome, and she was sure, more than one woman had enjoyed his attentions. In short, Jon could have had all the women he wanted, and the whole thing astonished her beyond measure. Why was he attracted to Ygraine, a peasant woman who was not afraid to dirt her hands with blood?  
She hid behind her mask, that first time. She had thought it was just a coincidence. But that night, wrapped in skins while trying to sleep between Jon’s men, she thought about that heat and those arms, his smell, his voice ... And she found herself hopefully to be so close to him again.  
Every so often she had wondered why she had not revealed her identity immediately, and why she had not revealed even later. She was so used to hide from anyone, that her instinct led her to protect herself even from Jon. Probably, finding him while struggling to not be raped by his soldiers had activated her defense mechanisms, because before recognizing his brother, her brain had recognized a man. At first she thought just to postpone her revelation, but somewhere in the middle, she had changed her mind. She had decided to keep her secret.  
Jon moved in his sleep, hugging her more tightly, his face of her shoulder. She felt his hot breath on her neck, which caused an instant thrill from her groin to her back.  
Just as had happened that first morning, when she had woken up in Jon's room at Moat Cailinn, the day after she was stabbed for him. That morning she was awakened by a terrible thirst, the belly cut open and Jon breath on her neck. His arms encircled her waist, and she was lost again in the heat of his chest. The pain was more bearable, with him close. Soon, however, a chill had covered her from head to toe, and not for the cold. It was a strange chill that had filled her with a feeling of warmth that radiated from Jon's hands until her belly. The healthiest part of it, at least.  
And immediately she felt the sudden desire to touch and be touched by him, perhaps without clothes on.  
Those thoughts had disturbed her greatly. Why find out what it meant wanting a man right next to the body of his brother? What was she becoming? She thought to fight those instincts, or she would become like Cersei Lannister.  
As if an answer to her torment, while Jon was still engulfed in the heavy mists of sleep, that morning a part of him had woken up, showing with cheerful effrontery that the King of the North appreciated her proximity. And quite unconsciously, given the mortified expression on his brother's face when he woke up.  
In the darkness of Greywater Watch, she thought almost with tenderness about Jon's pouting. She could not resist teasing him, just to be able to see the strange turn that took his lips in those moments. And she was, more often than not, stunned by the power of those feelings, the desire to embrace him and kiss those lips. And she stood there dazed, doing nothing but escape, cold and distant, to get away from him mentally, if not physically.  
Something, after the ambush, had gone wrong. She did not understand what she had said during her delirium, but in the morning of her awakening, Jon had warned that he was waiting for an explanation from her. She had fabricated the story of Ygraine, so well thought that it can not even be considered, technically, a lie. That story likely allow her to tell her life, to give a name to what she was become, and play openly with Jon. If he had known her identity, she would be sent to Winterfell on the spot, for her safety, to protect her. Instead, thanks to Ygraine, she could be known by his brother for what she had become. She was protecting him. He himself had ask her to accompany him in the Neck. He had recognized her capabilities as better than those of most of his men.  
Sooner or later, she thought, she would have revealed her identity to Jon. But the thought made her uncomfortable. Above all, thinking about how he had felt akward during certain occasions, she knew that he would be even more ashamed. She feared that moment, she was afraid to see the horror in Jon's eyes. Because she knew her brother, and she knew the sense of shame that invaded her every time her body felt the pleasure of touching him. But when she woke up at night, close to him, looking for a relief to the urge that took her, she silenced all moral sense, and lost herself between the hands and caresses of her brother.  
Although she should not have done that. She was up to her to stop those hugs, because she knew about the blood ties that united them. Jon was innocent, unaware of the perversion born in her heart.  
Fortunately the nights in Moat Cailinn were over. In the chill of their little camp, she believed that also the fire that was burning her would freeze. Instead, she was looking for her brother’s warmth, that he had always given her, with even more desperation.  
She was falling into a hole more intolerable every day. She was consumed by her carnal desire for Jon, but she was aware of the terrible deception she was condemning him.  
She could return to be Arya Stark, and burn in the flames of her guilty love for Jon Snow, forever relegated to be his sister. Or she could give in to her damnation and remain Ygraine, love the King of the North as any woman would love any man, and leave, taking with her all the weight of that sin, which would be hers to bear, and hers alone.  
She had fallen asleep, a few hours before, with these kind of thoughts. A few hours where everything had changed. A few hours, and Jon himself had arrived to take the weight of their sin, this man, so honorable and loyal to the moral duty to do only what he thought was right. Jon who had not left her alone in the flames of the blame, but who accompanied her between the familiar gestures that had seen them grow up together. Out of sincerity, she kissed Jon face in the same way she had greeted him as a child.  
And he understood, or maybe he had always known, that Ygraine's heart didn't hide anything but the pain and the love that Arya Stark had suffocated in a lifetime.  
But she clung to the belief that the King of the North was just taking what was offered to him. She had refused to recognize Jon's gestures, which he had reserved for her since they were children. She was overwhelmed by the lips that had fallen on her, sudden and relentless. By the greedy hands that had stripped her and had touched every fold of her body.  
And then she was enticed by his fingers that knew where and how to touch her to make her fall in the vivid stupor of pleasure. And Jon's eyes, the same as hers, that seemed devouring her as she was losing herself deeper into the orgasm he was giving her.  
She could stop him, but in that moment, Arya Stark was no longer able to offer any resistance to the desire that was consuming her. She wanted him. She wanted Jon, her brother, her only love. She wanted him to take her, there, in that bed, hidden in the depths of Greywater Watch, as a man takes a woman.  
And when she realized that the magic of her face had dissolved, the terror had taken possession of her. Jon knew. Jon would shy away from her, horrified by what she had done, by what she didn't tell. But to her astonishment, Jon wanted her the same as before. He wanted her more than before. He wanted her in spite of their blood tie. And he had said it. With kisses and words. With his hands and his eyes, his wonderful eyes that told her the relief, the torment, and love, and desire that were consuming him.  
Arya suddenly understood. She understood that there was no difference between the little sister who Jon kept in his memory and the assassin who he was holding in his arms. Jon wanted her, as she was, broken yet whole. He not only craved her flesh, but all of her soul.  
And then there were no more goals to be pursued with cunning calculations, nor pieces of her body to be granted in exchange for benefits. There was only Jon's love, to which she gave her still miraculously virgin body, as a sign of her total devotion. No other man was worthy of her love. No other man’s body deserved her uncertain caresses, her inexperienced hands giving unexpected groans.  
And when his brother had entered with force in her flesh, the dull pain she felt was for Arya the beginning of something that she never wanted to stop. And when she felt him moving inside her, she had finally felt at home.  
She had nothing but him, and she would not have nothing else. And she would not want nothing more. Making love with Jon for the rest of his life. This was the dream that Arya Stark was living, at the exact moment when his brother had come in her belly, whispering her name.

 


	9. With flames from the dragon of darkness

_Thanks a lot to[Amielouiseward](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Amielouiseward/pseuds/Amielouiseward) who worked with me to correct all my mistakes! _

_And thanks to all of you that still follow  and support me after nine chapters!!_

* * *

 

Jon Snow awoke believing he was still in dreamland. Yet, the dim light of dawn was just beginning to filter through the shutters. Naked, in a bed that was not his, clutching to him the body warm as a sin of his sister Arya Stark.  
Alive.  
And she was awake too, judging from her hands that stroked lightly his forearm. "Hey, are you awake?"  
Instead of answering, he pressed her to himself, putting his lips on her hair. Oh Gods! How could it be wrong what he felt for her?  
What should they do now? How he wanted to be a true bastard, a Snow and nothing else, and run away with her to Essos, to live the rest of his life with her, to have her bare his children, far from Winterfell. Far from the shame that they had become for having the Stark blood flowing in the veins of both.  
"Who comes?" He asked in the dark, stroking gently his sister’s bare skin, almost as if it was a child's play.  
"Arya of House Stark comes here..." She replied in a whisper, according to the game. "A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"  
Arya felt, even in the darkness, that his silence was dripping in suffering. She took his hand in hers, and the words he uttered after hovered in the dark, like a warm comfort for both.  
"I, Jon Snow, King of the North. I claim her. "  
She trembled. That exchange which began as a game was becoming dangerous. She was not born to become the woman of anyone. Yet, she did not mind to become Jon’s woman. If only they had been free.  
"Lady Arya, will you take this man?" He continued, a breath of terror in his voice. Arya wanted to run, but she had to answer the question of her brother; she then came up, stretching languidly on his chest, giving him a kiss on the tip of his lips as she caressed his forehead.  
"Yes, I take this man."  
Jon wrapped her in his arms, devouring her with kisses. Soon, he was on top of her and spread her legs, finding her flesh wet and ready to receive him. He wanted to be quiet, take it slowly, to make her gradually experience the various steps of pleasure, introducing it one step at a time in the sweetest sins that he could make her perform.  
But he was not able to do it. Dawn would come soon, and with it the end of that terrible and glorious night. The urge to possess her again inflamed his loins, and he allowed himself only the time to look at his hands slipping from her narrow shoulders to her breasts, white as snow. Immediately his lips and his teeth caressed the small hard nipples, Arya let out a groan and pressed her already open sex against his groin.  
Between moans, she was able to articulate a single sentence. "The coat, we don't need it ... You have already put it on me ... At the White Knife".  
He looked at her and smiled. It was true. Jon's hands were holding her firm hips, as he continued to bite her breasts and rubbed his penis between her open legs . Her arms encircled his chest, hands clawed his shoulder blades, and at one point he did not understand anything, and again slipped inside of her, forgetting all his good intentions.  
Arya let out a muffled scream, eyes narrowed at first and then open again, staring at him while he was busy between her open thighs. Her hands tightened around his buttocks, pushing his pelvis into her at every lunge. Jon really wanted to slow down, but already the first signs of orgasm were weakening him. In a last gasp of sanity, his fingers reached the point where their bodies joined, and touched her there. Arya’s hips began to move against him, slipping around his penis uncontrollably, so much that Jon could no longer restrain himself and he got off instantly, his face buried in her neck.  
She stroked his hair, and his shoulders, and his back. He felt her hips still moving slowly, while he was still tucked inside her. Jon sighed and gave her a kiss on the lips, while his hands ran over the smooth, warm skin of her sides.  
"Sorry" he said, as he drew out of her and sat down between her legs, again feeling her warmth on him.  
"What?" She said, looking into his eyes.  
"Sorry because I didn't’ make you... You know... Well ..." He said, unable to conclude his sentence using spoken words, staring at her naked body with an embarrassed expression, instead of looking into her eyes.  
"Never mind," she said, running her fingers over Jon's back “Sometimes women just can't enjoy it. Anyway, I liked it. " Arya remembered the lessons learned by the courtesans of Braavos. And she remembers also how, thinking of doing those things to the men whom she would have to please, her stomach was twisted by the gross thought. Instead, she did not mind at all the idea of doing it with Jon. And he, for the first time in days, he thought of Ygritte. Perhaps it was because of Arya's hands, they were touching his body in a silent exploration. A smile curled his lips, to see how reckless his sister was, even in his arms. He remembered her as a child pestering him, cause he had to teach her to use the bow, and now she was there, naked, beneath him, and she touched him lewdly, raising real shivers on his skin and groans held on his lips.  
Jon, between a sigh of pleasure and the other, could not help but think about what his sister had experienced, around the world. What she had done. He had found her in his arms, a woman, but who knows what made her such. He hugged her even tighter.  
It would be a dream to spend a whole day with Arya over him. Kissing her, touching her, memorizing every corner of her body. Possessing her, again and again. But his sense of honor whispered the word abomination, every time his skin shivered with pleasure at the touch of Arya's body.  
That sense of honor that crawled his skin, whenever he thought about the virgin blood that stained him. The blood of his little Arya. Still, the thought of being the first to profane his sister’s body terrified him and at the same time filled his heart with pride. A fierce feeling was rising in Jon's heart. His. Arya’s first time was his, her virginity and her honor that she had defended at the cost of killing. His. Arya had had no doubts, no hesitation. She had wanted him. Completely. The brother and the man. The king and the bastard. In silence and without fanfare. Arya loved him, and gave him everything she had, her support, her body, her heart and what was left of her honor.  
Suddenly, he recalled the words of Maester Aemon.

  
_What is honor compared to a woman's love? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy._

His great glory and his great tragedy was there, naked in his arms, caressing him in silence.  
"Why are you laughing?"  
"Am I laughing?" He asked in amazement.  
"Yup. You're laughing, a face rather smug. Proud. But a moment ago you had one sullen glance. I could even tell you what you were thinking. "  
Jon sighed, thinking how to approach the subject. Sooner or later they would have to get up from that bed, get dressed for their lives and return to reality. And no reality would have allowed them to love each other. The only ones who could do it were doomed to bear the burden of madness, perhaps as a pledge to pay for the abomination that was granted to them. Thinking of them, he took courage and turned to his sister.  
"We are not Targaryens, Arya. Do you realize what we have done? "  
She sighed, resting her hands right on Jon’s abdominal scars, those that seemed almost mirroring hers.  
"Of course I do. We fucked. " She replied brutally. Jon raised his face to look into her eyes, and she held his gaze as she continued undeterred.  
"We had sex. We got laid. You screwed me. Banged me. Bedded me. There are plenty of quaint synonyms only in the common language. Do you want to know how they say it in braavosi? "  
Jon's face creased into a pout, disappointed. "Stop it! We're brother and sister! It's all wrong!"  
"I know it very well. But it does not change what I feel. You are telling me that you and I cannot - we must not - make love. All right. No, not good at all. Who says that it must be in that way? "  
"The Gods, Arya."  
"There is only one God, and his name is Death. And he doesn’t care what men and women do under the sheets. Even if they are brother and sister. "  
And as if to underline the concept, Arya knelt on the bed, legs open to let him see her open and still wet sex. Her hand fell quickly on his crotch, picking up his member that was already hardening. He took her wrist, trying to stop her before she proceeded further.  
Arya squirmed from his grasp "I am proud of the name I bear, but you must believe me when I say that in this moment I would be born Targaryen." She whispered in his ear, before touching his temples and his eyebrows with her lips, while her small breasts, Gods, leaned to his chest.  
Jon wondered where the hell she learned to do this, desperately trying to resist the urge to throw her over the bed and fuck her for the umpteenth time. Her lips lingered along the tendons of his neck.  
Arya chuckled at the look on the face of his brother, and Jon's heart was filled with a feeling he had not felt for a long time. Arya's hand was still tight around his cock, and Jon tried to set up a couple of concepts that made sense.  
"You know what Targaryens did to our family ... you should not joke like that."  
Oh. Gods. Arya's hand had begun to move on his balls. Oh. He had never even dreamed of such a thing.  
"I know. It is that ... Stories are told by those who won the war ... There are many things we don't know, Jon "  
It was impossible to argue now, Arya touching him in that way. At that time, she was winning the battle. He looked at her, and she slowly sat down with her chest above his thighs, and he stared as if hypnotized the little hand that seemed to know exactly how to touch his cock to make him enjoy it. He did not see the mischievous gaze shining in the gray eyes of his sister, when he closed his to feel even more those obscene caresses.  
But he opened them, as soon as he felt Arya's mouth on him.  
He felt the moist and wet heat of her lips, his sister’s tongue licking his penis, while her eyes rested on him, brilliant and fierce. Another moan escaped from his vocal cords, when her hands went out from his groin, nails scratching the skin of his hips, and her mouth sucked him deeper and deeper, closer and closer to her throat.  
Jon would have liked to resist, but seeing and feeling Arya in that way was sending him directly into pleasure’s oblivion. Her tousled hair brushed his thighs and abdomen, her hands were on his hips, her red and swollen lips were closed around his penis. And as if was not enough that she already possessed fiercely every centimeter of his flesh, Arya's eyes, his own eyes, were burning with their passionate look what still remained of his soul.  
Jon Snow came again, this time in the hungry mouth of his sister. He inhaled, desperate to get oxygen into his lungs as quickly as possible, while she was perfectly aware of what was happening to him, and she sucked in his cum, undeterred. He let out almost a strangled breath, somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and he felt ashamed even of that ugly sound, somewhere at the bottom of his pride. While he was slowly resuming contact with reality, Arya pulled away from him, sitting on the bed, and looked at him from below, with a mischievous smile that was nothing short of, her tongue licking her lips, allusive.  
And while she realized that his sister had literally swallowed his sperm, Jon Snow blushed. Arya burst into uncontrollable laughter and laid back beside him, who took her in his arms, between kisses and caresses that he never would get tired of giving her.  
"What were you saying before?"  
"Before I started sucking your cock?"  
Jon looked up, and stared at her for a long, serious moment.  
"Did you learn this polished vocabulary from Braavosi or from Tormund?"  
Arya laughed again.  
"Even if Tormund’s language is highly respectable, my master of dirty speech was the Hound."  
Jon's eyes twitched, puzzled and worried. "The Hound?"  
"When he abandoned the Lannisters we have done part of the way together."  
Jon darkened to the idea that Arya had spent time in close contact with a brute like that. Before he could ask her confirmation of what his heart was afraid of, Arya quickly changed the subject of the conversation." In Braavos, I worked in an acting company. I played the part of the stupid girl, the daughter of the villain of the story, that after her father's death, is raped by the other villain of the story. "  
"There are always the same characters in these plays, no?"  
"Yes. I guess it's because they are funny. Do you know who was the girl of the story that we put on stage? Sansa. "  
A chill settled over Jon, a shiver of fear, quite unlike the shivers of pleasure that Arya had given him until a few moments before.  
"The comedy villain is Tyrion Lannister then?"  
"Yup. It is not difficult to imagine how bad he is, since he has killed his father. "  
"I do not remember him as a bad man. Excessive, he liked wine and women, but he was very clever. And if he wanted to, I would say it was good-hearted. We spent much time together, when I arrived at the wall. "  
" I spent a lot of time with his father."  
"Tywin? And when? And how did you escape?”  
Jon's anxious questions chased each other. Arya leaned on her elbow, a few strands of hair falling on her breast. She looked at Jon with a smile, one of those who made him come back to the joy of being alive, and with a hand she caressed his cheek.  
"Shhh ... It's not what I wanted to tell you. Let me finish. In Braavos, the actors played the story of how the traitor Ned Stark killed King Robert. "  
Jon was silent, staring at her, listening.  
"I always wondered. If our father is called a traitor, and if history is written by the winners, maybe the same thing that's happened to our family, happened to Targaryens?”  
"It's not the same thing. King Aerys burned our grandfather alive. He has caused the death of our uncle Brandon in a horrible way. And Rhaegar Targaryen raped our aunt Lyanna ... Don't ask me to feel sympathy for them. "  
Arya smiled again, and his eyes narrowed as she continued.  
"So, which are worse? Targaryens or Lannisters?"  
"I don't know Arya, I don't know. We suffered terrible things from both these families. But I'm thinking that maybe you do have a point. Tyrion Lannister is not so bad, as a person. You might also like him."  
She sighed. "Too bad that we can't check it with Targaryens... Oh, wait. In Braavos they say that in the East, in the Slavers Bay, one woman of Dragon Seed has become queen of Meereen. "  
"I heard it myself. They say she has three dragons at her side ... "  
"And your friend Tyrion Lannister." She concluded.  
"Really?"  
"Yes. I'd like to see them one day, the dragons I mean. In King's Landing I have been in the crypts of the Red Keep, where there were the skulls of the old dragons ... They were huge. I could stay inside one of them."  
Arya's eyes stood in mid-air, thinking back to those happy moments.  
"Will you go back to Essos then? To see the dragons? " He asked, a slight ghost of insecurity in his voice that she pretended not to notice.  
"I don't know, maybe. I have to finish my revenge first. "  
Immediately Arya's eyes returned to look at him. "And then I will help the King of the North when the winter, the real one, comes. Then who knows, maybe I will return to Essos to see the dragons, and if the Queen of Mereen will be nice enough I can offer her my services. "  
"And if she decides to take revenge?" He asked, rubbing her bare shoulder, a shiver unidentified running through his skin.  
"Starks did nothing bad to the Targaryens. A Lannister killed King Aerys, and a Baratheon killed Rhaegar. And the Mountain killed Rhaegar's children. "  
"Our father had a fight with King Robert, and he abandoned the war to bring back Aunt Lyanna. Maybe you're right, they might not be angry with us. " Concluded Jon, rubbing his nose over his sister’s cheek  
"Thinking about it, King Robert had not be so in love with our aunt."  
"Why do you say this?" He asks, as his lips rested on her temples.  
"Because after having killed Rhaegar he was concerned only in bedding Cersei Lannister."  
"Our aunt was already dead."  
"How did she die, do you know?"  
"No ... I understand your sudden sympathy for House Targaryen, but I don't see what can change, for us, to find out the details of what happened over twenty years ago. We are not, however, Targaryens. "Jon concluded abruptly, moving away from her.  
"Oh, you know my sympathy? Tell me the truth Jon, would you not like be one of them? We could love each other and no one would have anything to say. "  
His greatest glory and his greatest tragedy, he told himself getting lost in the eyes of his sister who were waiting for a response from him. Jon smiled.  
"Do you know what? You're right, even among Targaryens there are good people. Maybe your Queen of Meereen might look like her relatives I've known. "  
"You've known a Targaryen?"  
"He was the old Maester of Night's Watch, Aemon. A truly wise man, with a kind heart, and a soul of steel. "  
"He was?"  
"He died a little time ago. And since then, whenever I have doubts or I don't know what decision to take, I try to think about what he would tell me. I'm trying to imagine what he would say now, if he saw me bedding my sister. "  
"Well, if he was a Targaryen, it would seem not so strange to him ." She concluded with a half-laugh, before a strong hug. "I know that for you it's not easy ..."  
"And for you, is it easy, Arya? Is it easy for you to kiss me, touch me, fuck me? Think of our father, of Robb, of your mother, what would they say of us?”  
He asked, staring bitterly at the contours of the room that every minute became increasingly more clear in the light of day.  
"Don't say nothing, Jon." Arya said, after endless moments of silence. Her sobbing voice reached him. "Because they are dead. And you are alive, damn it! " she shouted suddenly, one hand clutching his shoulder as she looked into his eyes.  
"Your blood, my blood, runs through your veins. I'm alive too! I'm made of blood too, Jon! And of flesh, of anger ... And if I have one last bit of honor, at the bottom of this heart, it's only thanks to you... "  
He took her face in his hands, trying to wipe the tears with her fingers and lips.  
"Honor, Arya? After what we did? "  
"The most honorable thing I've done since I left Winterfell was loving you with my whole being, Jon." He held her tight as she clung to his shoulders as if he were to disappear at any moment.  
"What do we do now?" She asked, the little voice that sounded like she was a child.  
"I'm taking you with me to Winterfell. You're a Stark more than me. You have to go back to take the place that you deserve. "  
"Oh Jon, and what would I do there? Be The Lady, like my sister? Look at me! The only thing that I would be good at would be becoming a bargaining chip of a new advantageous marriage. "  
"Never." He said, looking at her, a shadow of possessiveness in his eyes.  
"The only life possible for Arya Stark, is to be the lady of some noble castle and to be impregnated by some noble ally."  
"Are you doing it on purpose, telling me these things?"  
"Put up with it, Jon. I couldn't be an old maid. The duty will require you to give me in marriage to someone. Do you think you would be capable of doing it? Could you take me home just to put me in the bed of another? "  
" Stop it!" He yelled, shaking her by the shoulders. Smiling and caressing his hair, she placed a kiss between his eyebrows.  
"You know it too. My place is somewhere else. I have my revenge to take, when we’ll go back to Moat Cailinn. In Winterfell there are Sansa, your Davos, Tormund, and a lot of people by your side. You don't need Arya Stark in Winterfell. "  
"I need you. Not Arya Stark. Nor a Faceless Woman. Only you." He answered, staring, lips bent in a pout that, he was unaware, was Arya’s delight.  
"Um, if you ask me with this face like a wolf puppy you may also convince me, you know?" She replied, moving closer to his face, looking for kisses and cuddles. Jon chuckled, taking her by the waist, tucking the nose between her neck and her shoulder, breathing her scent. "What do I do now, without you?"  
"In the same way you have done so far, maybe much better, because some Faceless called Ygraine can sneak into your room every night without anyone noticing ..."  
"Interesting perspective ... Arya?"  
"Yes?"  
"When your list will remain empty, please, come back to Winterfell. Come back as Ygraine or as any other face that you want to wear, but come back to me."


	10. The sunlight blinds his eyes

Moat Cailinn was near. The return trip from Greywater Watch was significantly shorter than the first. Not only because the small group had a certain direction to go, but mainly thanks to the Crannogmen between them. They made it possible to move forward more faster. Four short men were traveling with them, the escort of Lord Reed.

Tormund watched them during the journey. Low stature, they spoke very little, if anything at all. They carried small leather shields with them, bronze spears and nets, showing that they were people accustomed to war. As small and lean, below the  reptile skin clothes which covered them, it was easy to feel their strength and endurance.

Instinctively, Tormund felt an affinity with them. They were descendants of the First Men, and not easily mingled with other peoples of Westeros. Too bad that, unlike the Free Folk, the Crannogmen knelt in front of Starks, even though he had the impression that the loyalty of the men of the swamps was more tied to the Winterfell family than to the North crown. Tormund realized that, in fact, since the Iron Men, first, and then Bolton took over the North, Lord Reed had kept well away from the struggles of the Seven Kingdoms.

While they went towards the north, snow and ice became more and more present. He did not mind at all, because snow and ice were his life. Another few hours and they would be in Moat Cailinn, in the North, with the King’s men and Davos Seaworth. Finally, Tormund thought, he would have different company from the silent lizard men and those two animals in heat; that, for the rest of the world were the Faceless Ygraine and the King of the North.

Not that the two were particularly annoying or harassing in their approaches. To be honest, nothing much had changed in the way they relate to each other in front of strangers. But Tormund was not a stranger, and he had noticed small signs that told clearly how much things had changed between the two. When he was out of the room in which Ygraine slept, the first night spent at Greywater Watch, he had gone to bed angry. Those two did not understand shit. It was clear as the summer sun that Jon had finally found a woman he liked. And that Ygraine was definitely willing to spread her legs for him. But neither of them had even made the first step.

The next day, when he saw Jon exit from Ygraine’s room, an amused grin had found its way to his lips. The King’s hair was a mess and there were bite marks over the skin of his chest. It was more than obvious that he had caught his invitation to let her know he was still alive... Jon’s expression at that moment had seemed strange. A man who finally gets to fuck a woman, should at least have a satisfied expression. Jon Snow however, was serious. Deadly serious.

Ygraine remained the same woman of the previous days. However, while they were eating breakfast at the table of Howland Reed, her looks often heading for Jon, more often than she did before. During the day, Tormund had noticed that the two quietly continued to look for each other. And sometimes, both disappeared out of sight of all. One old crannogwoman had give something to Ygraine, and the next night, he had seen her sneak into Jon’s room. 

Day after day, whatever existed between the two became more and more evident. Once on the road, they never left each other  for a moment. Every evening, Ygraine lost a good hour to prepare a mash made of herbs, and she drank it in one breath, without offering anyone. Tormund was surprised to see even Lord Reed gazing at them, with pensive expression, when they left alone to wander through the frozen forest. And one night, he came across a very clear scene. The King of the North, kneeling between Ygraine's spread legs, was literally eating her, hidden behind a dry and dying bush, who had failed to cover completely their forms. Although he wanted to openly demonstrate his personal appreciation for the manly qualities of Jon, Tormund stopped and walked away in silence, chuckling to himself. 

Not that he was bothered by the two, but he was a man, and moreover obliged to a forced chastity for a long time. Being in close contact with two people who did not think of anything but to jump on each other, did not help him at all. It was time to go back to see some more friendly faces, and Tormund was already looking forward to see the puzzled face of the Onion Knight when he would tell him, of course in his own way, what the two were doing, under the sheets and in the bushes.

During the trip to Moat Cailinn, the King of the North proceeded almost always flanked by his bodyguards. Lord Reed often conversed with him, talking about old anecdotes, when he was young and had met Jon's father. But the strangest thing was that he often involved Ygraine in those conversations, who seemed strangely attracted by his words.

"Ygraine, you look a lot like a person I knew." Lord Reed began the first morning in Greywater Watch, after he and Jon had discussed various political issues.

"Really my lord?" she replied, with a certain coldness hidden under the apparent courtesy, feigning interest. The nice thing about Ygraine was that she was doing it on purpose. She wanted Lord Reed to understand that she did not care who she reminded him, but remained perfectly friendly and courteous, apparently.

"Yes. Not so much physically ... Her body was similar to yours, but her features, her colors were different. But you remind me very much her attitude.”

"Her attitude? Why” She asked, suddenly curious.

"She was a real woman of the North. " Lord Reed said, staring into her eyes with a smile,"She was stubborn, wild and easy to anger. She loved riding. And she was a bit 'tomboy. They said that she had wolf’s blood. Seeing a Northern woman, like you, who wears pants, fights like a man and is together with a Stark, has made me remember her.”

"I'm not a Stark, "Jon intervened, always to point out that detail. Tormund now thought it to be a spontaneous reflex for him, every time someone pointed him out as belonging to the family of Winterfell.

"You are right, Your Grace, you are not a Stark. But inside your veins runs the blood of the Starks. The blood of the First Men. And a lot more. "

"You are talking just like my father, Lord Reed ... Last time I saw him, he told me exactly that. "Jon replied, glancing furtively at Ygraine, which instead was very busy to cut a piece of meat on her plate.

"So this woman who reminds you of Ygraine... was she a warrior? A Mormont, perhaps?"

"She was not a Mormont. She was destined to become queen, in one way or another. But she never became one. Perhaps, if she really became a warrior, if she had spent her life riding her beloved horse, learning to use a sword, she would have been happier, who knows?"

With those words, Howland Reed had definitely caught Ygraine's attention.

"It is strange to hear such words from a nobleman, my lord," she said, staring at him with her expressionless eyes, but leaking some curiosity.

"Oh, I'm a Crannogmen. We are different. I taught my daughter to fight as much as a man, and she is definitely more good than my son ever was. For this reason our girls hardly marry men who are not of our people."

"You have a daughter? And where is she now?”

"She is traveling. " Lord Reed said, without giving further details. Ygraine blinked at him, and Tormund had the distinct feeling that she was about to ask further questions.

"What is her name?" She  asked.

"Meera." Lord Reed Granted.

"And you've already betrothed her to someone?"

The lord of Crannogmen put his cutlery on the plate and raised his face to look straight into Ygraine. "No. Although I would like her to marry a certain young man, I can not force her."

"Why not? That's how it works, for nobles like you. " She went on, stubbornly.

"Certainly not among the Crannogmen. And you, Ygraine? Would you marry a man just because obliged” Lord Reed seemed amused by the dialogue with her.

"I'm not a noble. " she cut short, in the same way Jon Snow said he wasn't a Stark.

"No, but you're still in the service of a King. If your master ordered you to marry someone, what would you do? " the gentleman asked, the corner of his lips tilted slightly upward.

"I'd leave his service" she said, resolutely.

Lord Reed broke into laughter. "You're just like her. I hope the gods will give you a future better than hers. Do you know who you remind me of Ygraine? A Stark."

Immediately, Jon and the woman exchanged a strange look. 

"A Stark? Lady Catelyn?" Jon asked, clearing his throat. Jon was not good at it, when he felt uncomfortable. 

"Lady Catelyn was not a tomboy. No, I'm talking about Ned's sister."

"Aunt Lyanna? " Jon asked, his face slightly moved with wonder.

Lord Reed became suddenly serious, looking at Jon's face. After a few moments of silence, he replied, still staring at him carefully.

"Yeah. For you she is Aunt Lyanna. Do you know that you look like her, Your Grace?"

Jon’s astonishment grew wide upon his face. "You are the first one to tell me this, my lord. If anything, they tell me I look like Lord Stark. " He countered with a bitter grimace. Then, the shadow of a smile warmed him up. 

"Usually everyone, including my father, said that Aunt Lyanna was identical to my little sister Arya..." Jon Snow suddenly broke off the sentence, exchanging furtive glance with Ygraine.

Tormund could not help but notice that this was the first time that Jon spoke of his dead sister without his face frowning into a grimace of utter despair, and above all, the first time he clearly said her name.

"Your sister Arya... Yes, Ned told me about her. He said that she is equal to Lyanna, not only in appearance but especially in character. He was convinced that she had wolf’s blood."

"My father never talked about my aunt. The only things we know about her is that in fact, she resembled Arya. This is why I have always imagined her as a tomboy, and I could never understand why a war broke out because of her.”

Once, Dolorous Edd had told Tormund the story of the little girl lost in the King's Landing riots. After all these years, Jon was resigned to the fact that she was dead. If Jon’s aunt had the same character of his sister and Ygraine, it was no wonder that he immediately felt comfortable with the Faceless woman. She reminded Jon of his dead sister! 

Lord Reed put the cutlery on the plate, staring back at Jon Snow. "Your..." He paused, and then said "Lyanna was beautiful. Not a refined beauty, like Ashara Dayne or Cersei Lannister. Of course, if you imagine her as a little girl you can't realize how beautiful she was, and how she affected men. It was not just her looks, as graceful ... She was wild, untamed. I believe that she attract Robert, and then Prince Rhaegar, because they thought no one would ever be able to tame her.”

Just like Ygraine, a beast that killed the men who tried to rape her. Tormund finally understood what Lord Reed meant, as he tried to explain who was the woman that caused the war.

"I think I understand, Lord Reed." Jon replied, biting his lip, a gesture which he was not at all aware. "Arya... she was just the same. Indomitable is the right word."

Lord Reed reached for the King of the North, placing his hand on Jon's forearm, with a smile. "She was?” He said. "Your sister is alive. And you know it." 

Jon remained quiet, looking away. Tormund immediately understood that the King had a lot of things to say, but deliberately refused to tell them. Ygraine, with her eyes on the plate, passed back and forth a piece of bread in the dish. Those two were really strange.

During the return trip, Tormund thought that in just a couple of hours, they would reach Moat Cailinn. Just a couple of hours and he would see the serious Davos face, other men of Jon’s guard, the others of the garrison. Still a couple of hours, and the next part of their journey would begin.

\-----

Tormund never imagined that the dawn of the day after their arrival at Moat Cailinn, Ygraine would be gone. To the surprise of everyone but Jon Snow, who predictably was even more sullen than usual. Davos Seaworth breathed a sigh of relief that the murderer was no longer close with his King, and Jon basked in a new melancholy. Lord Reed instead, was struck with amazement and sorrow, with which he had greeted the news. He liked Ygraine. 

Just before continuing his journey to the North, this time again on horseback, came a crow from Winterfell. Robyn Arryn, Princess Sansa’s betrothed, was riding to the North. Lady Sansa asked that some of the garrison of Moat Cailinn escort the young Lord of the Vale up to Winterfell. 

Tormund didn't know Lord Arryn, but if the boy was a bit similar to Petyr Baelish, his arrival in the North did not promise anything good. That marriage was almost essential, after the support of the Vale to the King of the North in the Battle of Winterfell. He didn't  understand a lot the dynastic issues, but after the marriage Lady Sansa would have a massive army on her side. A well trained army, that had not been damaged by the war that had devastated Westeros in recent years.

Tormund thought about the ambush before arriving at Moat Cailinn. Someone in the shadows, was plotting against Jon Snow. Suddenly, he missed Ygraine, her expressionless eyes who never lost anything. It would be extremely useful to have her on their side now.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my language and the chapters from 1 to 8 had no Beta reader. :(  
> Thank you very much!!


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